23 

Lillie leaned one hand against the carriage window as the horse slowed. She consulted the slip of paper in her hand to verify the address.

Yes, this was it.

She had not come all that far from Prairie Avenue—only a handful of blocks to the west—but the atmosphere of the neighborhood had changed. The mansions faded away in favor of homes that appeared more manageable even from the outside. Lillie had never known anyone who lived in a neighborhood like this one. She had seen the Banning house from the outside, and her parents had recounted details of the interior after their visit three days ago. Lillie had assumed their daughter lived in similar circumstances. This home, though, was just a square brick house with two stories and a porch stretched across the front behind a white wooden railing. Lillie rather liked it.

Her driver opened the carriage door, and Lillie stepped out.

“Thank you, Ronald,” she said. “I’ll look for you right here when lunch is over.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lillie straightened her hat and shoulders and followed the walkway to the stairs at the front of the house. Five stairs, then four more paces, and Lillie stood at the front door. She had barely rung the bell when the door opened and she was looking into the clear eyes of the maid who had been surrounded by children when they last met. Lillie rummaged through her brain for the name. Charlotte.

“Please come in.” Charlotte stepped aside and gestured. “Mrs. Edwards is in the dining room.”

As Charlotte entered the dining room, Lucy folded the last of the burgundy napkins into a perfect triangle and laid it on a plate. “Lillie! I’m so glad you could come.”

“Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been looking so forward to this lunch.”

Lucy crossed the room and took Lillie’s hand. “I understand congratulations are in order on your engagement.”

Lillie could not help but smile. “Mr. Gunnison asked me on Saturday evening.”

“And you said yes!”

“I did! He had already asked my father for my hand.”

“Have you known each other long?”

“We began seeing each other in April, and we are both quite sure of our decision.”

“How delightful. When will the wedding be?”

“Christmas, we hope.”

Over the next few minutes, Charlotte ushered in several other young women. Lucy invited everyone to take a seat at the dining room table. Charlotte served soup, tender roast beef under gravy, and a salad chock full of summer vegetables. The meal was filling and colorful, but uncomplicated, which Lillie found refreshing. While they ate, Lucy encouraged her guests to share their interest in St. Andrew’s Orphanage.

As Charlotte served slices of warm blackberry pie, Lucy herself began to talk.

“I’d like to tell you about some of the children at St. Andrews. Let me begin with Sarah. She was a happy child, an only child. Her parents doted on her, but life can change in an instant. Sarah came home from school one day to discover her parents’ carriage had overturned in an intersection. She went to school in the morning a content, well-loved daughter, and she came home an orphan.” Lucy clapped her hands once sharply. “Just that quickly, she found herself at St. Andrew’s. For years she struggled to make sense of what had happened to her.

“Alonzo and Alfred are brothers. They have three older brothers. When their father died of pneumonia, their mother found she could not care for the little ones and still scrape out a living. Alonzo and Alfred came to us four years ago. We all hoped it was temporary, but gradually they heard less and less from their mother. No doubt her own heart is breaking because she cannot reclaim her sons.

“Some of you have met Ben, my son. You might wonder how a woman my age can have a ten year old! Benny came to St. Andrew’s as a newborn left on the steps. He and I were smitten with each other when I first began volunteering at St. Andrew’s. When my husband met Benny, it seemed clear the boy was meant to be our son, and we adopted him two years ago. Ben is one of the lucky ones to find a real home, but far more children need homes than we have families able to take them in.

“These are real children who need to be loved, who have hopes and dreams. It’s not easy for Jane to talk to people, so she writes things down. Jane keeps a journal of her hopes and dreams. I haven’t read it, because it’s personal, but I know she pours her heart into that brown leather book with a red stripe down the front cover.”

Brown leather with a red stripe. A girlish scrawl.

Lillie could still feel the weight of that book in her hands. She saw again the outrageous accounts written between the covers. Jane was the name of the girl who had escorted her to Lucy Edwards’s office. Now her face, with her dull dark eyes, hung in Lillie’s mind.

But what was Serena Cuthbert doing with that girl’s journal?

Simon handed his hat to Charlotte. “I telephoned to tell Lucy I would be late, but I had hoped to be here sooner than this.”

Charlotte hung the derby on the hat rack next to the front door. “The ladies have been having a good discussion. Shall I bring you something to eat?”

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

Charlotte ushered Simon into the dining room.

“I’m sorry to be so late,” he said as he took his seat. “Today has been one crisis after another.”

“Ladies, I’d like you to meet Mr. Simon Tewell, director of St. Andrew’s Orphanage,” Lucy said. She made introductions around the table.

“It’s generous of all of you to give us some of your precious time.” Simon glanced around the table. If even one of these young women turned out to be half as committed to St. Andrew’s as Lucy Edwards, the lunch would have been a valuable investment of his time.

“Are these crises that delayed you at the orphanage?” Lucy asked.

“Indirectly. The Haymarket Produce Bank failed today. They signed the papers this morning assigning their assets. The news is flying up and down the streets.” Simon looked around the table, not sure how many of the privileged young women would immediately understand the implications of this particular bank failure.

“Don’t quite a few of the truck farmers use that bank?” Lucy asked.

Simon nodded. “As soon as it was announced, a horde of farmers banged on the doors trying to get their money. The police cleared them away.”

“It’s disaster for the people who can least afford it.” Lucy’s shoulders sagged.

“But it’s also a sign of the difficult economy in general. Some of those farmers donated to orphanages the produce they couldn’t sell. Now they may lose their farms and have nothing to bring into the city at all. Everyone will feel it.”

“Well, we can’t save the Haymarket Bank,” Lucy said, “but let’s get down to business to figure out what we can do for the children of St. Andrew’s.”

The lunch dishes were cleared. Sarah tossed a towel on the counter next to the sink, where Mary Catherine faced the mound of dirty dishes. Sarah did not even look at the kitchen maid’s face, resolute about not getting drawn into helping with washing up. That was not her job anymore. The afternoon lull was beginning, the hours of the day when the domestic staff might get to sit down for a few minutes and work on some handwork before preparations for dinner got underway and the family returned home with their demands.

But Sarah had other plans. She pulled her apron over her head and slung it across the back of a chair, deciding that the dark calico dress she wore underneath was not a complete embarrassment for going out on the street. Mrs. Fletcher was settling into the chair under the window, with her feet on a footstool. She had long ago given up pretending to do handwork during quiet hours. Sarah avoided meeting the cook’s eyes, lest Mrs. Fletcher suddenly decide some obscure corner had to be scrubbed immediately. She was through the door and down the servants’ hall before anyone could speak her name.

Outside, Sarah headed over to the Lexington Hotel. She had begun to go nearly every day now. If Brad or Lillie left a message for her, she needed to know immediately. Arranging a meeting could require finagling and would be impossible without advance warning.

The doorman was used to seeing her. He tipped his hat and held the door open, and Sarah sashayed through.

Kenny was clearly expecting her. “It’s been a dry spell,” he said, “but here you go.” He held out an envelope.

Kenny did not even try to fluster her anymore. It was a seamless operation now. If there were no notes, she was in and out of the lobby in a matter of seconds. Sometimes she caught his eye from just inside the door. If he shook his head, she pivoted and went on her way. Most days she was back at Prairie Avenue before Mrs. Fletcher dozed off.

Sarah snatched the letter out of Kenny’s grasp and turned it over to see the return address on the flap.

Brad. Finally.

Sarah stepped across the lobby, beyond the range where Kenny might express curiosity, and worked the flap open.

Thank you for your patience . . . pressing business matters . . . reception on Wednesday night.

Sarah stopped to read more carefully. It was yet another political affair, but he was inviting her out. Wednesday evening. Perfect! She would not have to negotiate the time off or make any explanations for her absence.

Wednesday. The textile show with Simon. He had taken pains to arrange his schedule to match her night off. Sarah sank into a chair. While she had not formally accepted Simon’s invitation, she was interested in the textile exhibit and had been inclined to go. When would she have the chance to do something like that again? And she had come to think it might be rather nice to spend an evening with Simon Tewell.

Sarah tapped Brad’s note with her forefinger. The show was just fabric. If she declined Brad’s invitation, he might lose interest. Sarah pressed a hand against her forehead.

She had to see Brad. At the bottom of his note he had scrawled a telephone number. Sarah slid her steps back to the main desk.

“I need to use the telephone, Kenny,” she said.

“Hotel guests only.” He barely looked up from a stack of registration forms.

“You know I can’t use the one at the house.”

He shook his head. “I could lose my job.”

“For letting me use the telephone at a hotel desk?”

A guest rang the bell at the other end of the desk and Kenny responded.

Sarah did not think twice. She picked up the telephone and gave the operator the number of Brad’s office, where she left a message saying she was delighted to accept his invitation.

Eyeing Kenny, who was still occupied, she gave the operator a second number, hoping Simon would not be the one to answer the telephone. Surely he had someone to do that for him. Jane, perhaps, or one of the other girls who rotated duty in the office.

Sarah had counted four rings when the telephone was snatched out of her hands.

“I said no.” Kenny glowered and hung up the telephone.

Sarah let her breath out slowly.

“I’ve taken one other person into my confidence with notes for Serena Cuthbert, because I’m not here every minute. But if my supervisor found out I was acting as your messenger service, I’d be out on the street.”

“Are you threatening to stop?” she asked quietly.

“No means no. Three strikes and you’re out.”

Sarah moistened her lips while she thought. “All right. I’m sorry.”

Out on the sidewalk she blew out her breath. At least she had gotten through to Brad’s office. Simon would figure out for himself that she was not going to the textile show.

Simon scraped the last of the blackberry pie off the plate as Charlotte poured him a cup of coffee. All of the young women at the table had contributed to the discussion and all seemed interested to be involved at some level. But Lillie Wagner’s eyes glowed the warmest, and the pitch of her voice rose with the most sincerity.

“My friend and I have been sewing,” she was saying now. “We’re starting with ten dresses, but I hope it will be much more than that. I haven’t told Serena yet, but I’ve ordered a sewing machine. That will make the work go so much faster.”

“I hope you will visit our sewing class one Friday,” Simon said. “A young woman named Sarah Cummings runs it. She used to be at St. Andrew’s herself, and now she is working. She sews clothing as well.”

“Lucy told us about a girl named Sarah,” Lillie said.

“It’s the same girl,” Lucy interjected. “She has developed into an accomplished seamstress, as well as having other talents.”

“I’m sure she would love to have you visit the class.” Simon was not sure at all that Sarah would welcome a guest, but it seemed to be the thing to say.

“I would love to!”

“Drop by any Friday afternoon. They begin about three o’clock.”